


The life of Sigrun and Mikkel

by AceOfShipping



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: .... Probably, Based on a Tumblr Request, But something happened, Children, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I'm Sorry, OTP Feels, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Romance, Still a happy ending, eventually, this was supposed to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4797761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOfShipping/pseuds/AceOfShipping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little scenes from the life I hope Sigrun and Mikkel might have after the expedition. Dream future for my OTP.</p><p>... This was supposed to be happy, but something happened and, well, yeah. It's still mostly happy. And it does have a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oh captain, my captain, my love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Towards the end of the expedition, Sigrun and Mikkel seal their future together after realising that something is up with Sigrun...  
> (Idea for this chapter conceived with Sigruneidee on Tumblr)

Mikkel was washing the team’s uniform jackets outside the cat-tank when Sigrun approached him. She looked mildly frustrated, her arms crossed and her mouth pointed in a little pout. She had a way of brooding, that woman, in such a way that she seemed childishly adorable, and yet he knew that she could turn frighteningly angry if someone did something they shouldn’t around her while she was like that. Mikkel wasn’t particularly nervous about that, however, since he had come to know her well enough to calm her down when she raged, and he was quite certain that she knew better by now than to try and shake him with anger. She knew it did not work.

That was the primary reason why he simply continued the washing while she stood before him, hands at her sides, her right foot tapping the ground impatiently. When he didn’t immediately look up and stand attention, not that he ever did, the tapping of her foot grew quicker.  
“Mikkel.” She said, her voice disturbingly low. Oh dear, this did not bode well. “I am getting fat.”

Oh. Was it just that?

He shrugged, yes, she was, and he knew why. While it could be troublesome, there really was no reason to behave like this and get so annoyed with it –  
“It’s those weird vegetables of yours!” Her accusation made him look up at her, and it was clear to see that she meant it. Wait, she hadn’t realized? By the gods, this woman never ceased to amaze him.

“Vegetables in these amounts cannot make you fat, Sigrun.” He carefully wrung one of the jackets – Tuuri’s, it would seem – before dropping it in the wicker basket he used when hanging the clothes to dry. Sigrun did not accept his denial, and she leaned down, looking him in the eyes. “But I –am- getting fat, so there’s something wrong with them.”

“It’s not the vegetables. I’ve been monitoring your eating habits and behavioral patterns – “

“Speak so I can understand it!” She interrupted, looking mightily annoyed.

“- for a while.” He continued, disregarding her interruption. “I have come to the conclusion that you’re most likely pregnant.”

Silence. Not entirely what he had expected. When he looked up at her face, he noticed that she seemed very tense, like she was holding something back, whether it be a smile or tears he didn’t know. And it worried him. She took a deep breath, then exhaled, then took another deep breath. “Are you sure?” She asked, somehow keeping her voice completely steady. Mikkel nodded. “As sure as I can be in the present circumstances.” Sigrun nodded quietly, then turned around and left him. Mikkel paused, his eyes following her. Then, letting laundry be laundry, he stood up and followed her with quick, long steps, catching up with her just as she sat down on the stump of a fallen tree some thirty feet from the tank. She didn’t respond to his presence before he knelt down before her, his eyes catching hers as he attempted to understand how she was feeling. She seemed worried, so much more worried than he had ever seen her before.

“Sigrun…” He began, but he was unsure what to say. What did she need from him? He would give her anything, if she wanted him to stay out of the child’s life, even if it would kill him, he would do it. If she wanted him to help her, he would.

“How am I going to raise a child, Mikkel? I’m a captain, I have a duty to Dalsnes, to the people of Norway. I can’t abandon them, but the child…” She paused, clenching her hands in her lap. “How could I offer a good life to a child?” Her eyes were wide with a kind of desperation that he would never have thought he would see within them, and he promptly made up his mind. He gently took her slim hands in his larger ones and brought them to his lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles.

“Sigrun Eide.” He said, getting her full attention with his serious tone. “If you will have me, I will stay with you. If you will let me, I will help you.” He pressed a gentle kiss against the palm of her hand. “You do not have to be alone.”

He heard her sigh, but didn’t dare look up. What was he afraid of? Rejection. Yes. That seemed to be it. He was afraid she didn’t want him, afraid that what they had, what he thought of as love, was nothing to her but a nice pastime. When she spoke at last, he was already bracing himself for defeat.

“On two conditions.” He looked up at her, finding the worry gone from her eyes. She looked… happy. Joyful. He was momentarily overcome by intense relief, a gentle smile making its way to his lips. “Name them.”

“You move with me to Dalsnes and I get naming rights.”

“I agree to your terms.” He slowly stood up, ignoring the protest from his legs as he stretched them after kneeling for a prolonged time. He gently pulled her up by her hand and was about to pull her close for a kiss, but she placed her hands on his shoulders and stopped him.

“One more thing.”

He looked at her with a hint of worry and his head slightly tilted in question.

“You marry me.” She poked him in the chest with her index finger, looking at him sternly, as though she was giving an order. He smiled gently at her, then wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her close to him, their lips meeting in a deep, slow kiss. When Mikkel broke away for air, he had a small, happy smile on his lips.

“As you command, oh captain, my captain.” He said, his voice slightly shaky. He couldn’t hide the fact that he was happy. Very happy, in fact. She raised an eyebrow at him, then grasped his soft sideburns and pulled him into a harder, much quicker kiss. A Sigrun kiss. He loved those.


	2. My love, what are you hiding?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel and Sigrun arrive at Dalsnes - but there's something Sigrun has forgotten to tell her fiancé. How will Mikkel react to the surprise?  
> (The character Tyr and the idea was originally conceived by Sigruneidee on Tumblr.)

Mikkel almost couldn’t sit still. It wasn’t that he disliked Norwegian ships or that he in any way had a problem with being patient. The reason he was being impatient now was the woman sitting next to him – well, not so much sitting next to him as lying with her head in his lap, her eyes closed and her breathing slow. Sigrun was sleeping, and that was probably the only reason he wasn’t pacing up and down the deck. They were arriving in Dalsnes today. In fact, the lookout had gotten visual contact nearly half an hour ago. They were close, and he was meeting the Eide family.

Under normal circumstances he might have been calm, but it just so happened that he wasn’t just meeting Sigrun’s family as ‘that Dane I was on an expedition with’, but as ‘that Dane I was on an expedition with, whom I’m marrying, oh, and I’m pregnant with his child.’

Mikkel didn’t know how Norwegians would take that, but he did know that some Danish families would not exactly be thrilled. He would stand through any storm, though, to keep his promise to Sigrun and their unborn child. It would be fine, surely. He hoped. He had a valuable profession, a military community like Dalsnes could always use another healer, or at least that was his general understanding.

He hadn’t noticed that he had been nodding off until one of the crewmembers came down from above deck, waking them up as he stomped down the small stair with heavy steps. “We’re nearly there. You should get above deck.” He told them, before stomping back up the stairs. Mikkel sighed, looking down at the still sleeping woman on his lap. He gently stroked her hair with one hand, petting her cheek with the other to wake her up as gently as he could. She mumbled something, still half asleep, and then opened her eyes.

“We there?” Her voice was slightly rusty from her nap, but he still thought it sounded like music for his heart.

“Yes. We are there.” He answered, gently supporting her as she sat up slowly. Sigrun shook her head to wake herself up and then stood up, jumping up and down a few times to clear her mind and body from the sleepiness. “Alright then! Oh, and Mikkel, there’s something you need to know-“

“We’re docking!” A shout from above deck cut her off, and she didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence before a young boy, only around twelve, maybe fourteen at most, had jumped from the pier to the deck and scurried down the stairs, almost falling over several times in the process. As he came leaping down the small set of stairs, both his and Sigrun’s face lit up.

“Mother!” The boy exclaimed, and Mikkel found himself with one eyebrow raised in question at his fiancé. Sigrun was busy embracing her… her son. It seemed obvious that he was hers: his hair color and eyes were the same, and there was something about his lean build that seemed very familiar too. Yes, he seemed to be hers.

“Tyr! You’ve gotten so tall already, you’ll be taller than me in no time at all!” Sigrun took a step back to examine the boy, holding him out by an arm’s length. She seemed pleased with what she saw, at least she pulled him into another tight hug. It lasted a few long moments. 

Then, Mikkel took the liberty of clearing his throat.

Sigrun did not look like she was feeling awkward or embarrassed at all when she let go of Tyr and moved to stand between him and Mikkel. The Dane had to admit that he was not entirely comfortable – not so much because Sigrun had forgotten to mention that she had a son, more because he had not been prepared for the fact that he would most likely be living with not only her, but also a young boy in the most difficult age. Well, he would have to take that in stride.

“Right. Mikkel, this is my son Tyr.”

Mikkel sent the boy a reassuring smile, as if to convey without words that he understood the mixed feelings that the boy was inevitably experiencing. It would be far easier for the both of them to get used to each other, and living in the same home, if there were no expectations. No need for Mikkel to take the place of a father unless Tyr himself wished it to be so-

“Tyr, this is Mikkel. I’m marrying him, so he’s your new father!”

Oh. Well. So much for no pressure. Mikkel carefully watched the Tyr as the boy struggled to keep his feelings under control. He seemed to have a remarkable control over himself, and Mikkel noted with some sadness that he seemed to have been forced to develop a maturity far beyond his years. This boy had experienced more loss than was fair at his age.

“But mother, I thought you weren’t going to find a new father. I thought, because… because…” Now Tyr’s voice was getting thicker, and he looked as though he was on the brink of tears. Sigrun’s face fell, and judging by her bewildered expression, she was unsure of how she should react. Mikkel did not blame her for that – as a military mother, no doubt her actual interactions with her son had been severely limited by her career. Knowing this, Mikkel decided to take matters into his own hands. He stepped forwards, placed his hands gently on Tyr’s shoulders and looked the boy in the eyes. 

“Listen, Tyr. I know that your father… disappeared. However, unlike your father, I am not a hunter. I am a healer.” Mikkel’s voice was soft as he spoke, and he was quite certain that he saw a glimmer of hope in the boy’s eyes. A very careful hope. A hope that made Mikkel lean slightly closer and say. “I will not disappear.”

Without warning, Tyr threw himself at Mikkel, and the man found himself being hugged desperately by the boy. He couldn’t completely reach around the relatively broad Dane, and he was nearly two heads shorter, but nonetheless the hug was fierce, as though he did not want to let go, as though he was pouring all the sorrow over his lost father, and all the times he had needed him, onto Mikkel.

“You won’t go away? You promise?” Tyr’s voice was slightly muffled, as he was pressing his face against Mikkel’s shoulder. The Dane sighed and wrapped his arms around the boy, enveloping him in a warm, fatherly embrace.

“I will not. I swear.”


	3. Oh captain, my captain, my love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after their marriage, Mikkel is waiting for Sigrun to come home after yet another troll-hunting season. His daughter's nightmare prompts some worried thoughts of his own.

Mikkel was washing the team’s uniform jackets outside the cat-tank when Sigrun approached him. She looked mildly frustrated, her arms crossed and her mouth pointed in a little pout. She had a way of brooding, that woman, in such a way that she seemed childishly adorable, and yet he knew that she could turn frighteningly angry if someone did something they shouldn’t around her while she was like that. Mikkel wasn’t particularly nervous about that, however, since he had come to know her well enough to calm her down when she raged, and he was quite certain that she knew better by now than to try and shake him with anger. She knew it did not work.

That was the primary reason why he simply continued the washing while she stood before him, hands at her sides, her right foot tapping the ground impatiently. When he didn’t immediately look up and stand attention, not that he ever did, the tapping of her foot grew quicker.  
“Mikkel.” She said, her voice disturbingly low. Oh dear, this did not bode well. “I am getting fat.”

Oh. Was it just that?

He shrugged, yes, she was, and he knew why. While it could be troublesome, there really was no reason to behave like this and get so annoyed with it –  
“It’s those weird vegetables of yours!” Her accusation made him look up at her, and it was clear to see that she meant it. Wait, she hadn’t realized? By the gods, this woman never ceased to amaze him.

“Vegetables in these amounts cannot make you fat, Sigrun.” He carefully wrung one of the jackets – Tuuri’s, it would seem – before dropping it in the wicker basket he used when hanging the clothes to dry. Sigrun did not accept his denial, and she leaned down, looking him in the eyes. “But I –am- getting fat, so there’s something wrong with them.”

“It’s not the vegetables. I’ve been monitoring your eating habits and behavioral patterns – “

“Speak so I can understand it!” She interrupted, looking mightily annoyed.

“- for a while.” He continued, disregarding her interruption. “I have come to the conclusion that you’re most likely pregnant.”

Silence. Not entirely what he had expected. When he looked up at her face, he noticed that she seemed very tense, like she was holding something back, whether it be a smile or tears he didn’t know. And it worried him. She took a deep breath, then exhaled, then took another deep breath. “Are you sure?” She asked, somehow keeping her voice completely steady. Mikkel nodded. “As sure as I can be in the present circumstances.” Sigrun nodded quietly, then turned around and left him. Mikkel paused, his eyes following her. Then, letting laundry be laundry, he stood up and followed her with quick, long steps, catching up with her just as she sat down on the stump of a fallen tree some thirty feet from the tank. She didn’t respond to his presence before he knelt down before her, his eyes catching hers as he attempted to understand how she was feeling. She seemed worried, so much more worried than he had ever seen her before.

“Sigrun…” He began, but he was unsure what to say. What did she need from him? He would give her anything, if she wanted him to stay out of the child’s life, even if it would kill him, he would do it. If she wanted him to help her, he would.

“How am I going to raise a child, Mikkel? I’m a captain, I have a duty to Dalsnes, to the people of Norway. I can’t abandon them, but the child…” She paused, clenching her hands in her lap. “How could I offer a good life to a child?” Her eyes were wide with a kind of desperation that he would never have thought he would see within them, and he promptly made up his mind. He gently took her slim hands in his larger ones and brought them to his lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles.

“Sigrun Eide.” He said, getting her full attention with his serious tone. “If you will have me, I will stay with you. If you will let me, I will help you.” He pressed a gentle kiss against the palm of her hand. “You do not have to be alone.”

He heard her sigh, but didn’t dare look up. What was he afraid of? Rejection. Yes. That seemed to be it. He was afraid she didn’t want him, afraid that what they had, what he thought of as love, was nothing to her but a nice pastime. When she spoke at last, he was already bracing himself for defeat.

“On two conditions.” He looked up at her, finding the worry gone from her eyes. She looked… happy. Joyful. He was momentarily overcome by intense relief, a gentle smile making its way to his lips. “Name them.”

“You move with me to Dalsnes and I get naming rights.”

“I agree to your terms.” He slowly stood up, ignoring the protest from his legs as he stretched them after kneeling for a prolonged time. He gently pulled her up by her hand and was about to pull her close for a kiss, but she placed her hands on his shoulders and stopped him.

“One more thing.”

He looked at her with a hint of worry and his head slightly tilted in question.

“You marry me.” She poked him in the chest with her index finger, looking at him sternly, as though she was giving an order. He smiled gently at her, then wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her close to him, their lips meeting in a deep, slow kiss. When Mikkel broke away for air, he had a small, happy smile on his lips.

“As you command, oh captain, my captain.” He said, his voice slightly shaky. He couldn’t hide the fact that he was happy. Very happy, in fact. She raised an eyebrow at him, then grasped his soft sideburns and pulled him into a harder, much quicker kiss. A Sigrun kiss. He loved those.


	4. I'll be patient for you, my love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel worries for the health of his wife, and wonders how long he and the children can continue to struggle through Sigrun's long absences.

Mikkel woke with a start, breathing heavily as he orientated himself. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was, and he saw figures in the shadows from his nightmare. It was the sleeping woman in his arms that drew him back to reality, her steady breathing anchoring him and calming his racing heart. He exhaled in relief as he fell back on his pillow, burying his face in her red hair and inhaling the calming scent of Sigrun deep into his lungs. Without thinking about it, his hand wandered down to the slight bump on her stomach, and he smiled with the happiness of anticipation. The first year of their life together, he had had second thoughts about moving to Dalsnes, but after the births of first Sigurd, then, two years later, Maja, he had cast away the thought of convincing her to move with him to Bornholm. Now, with their third child on the way, that thought was resurfacing. He couldn’t keep this up, and neither could their children. They missed her when she was away, so did he, and he had enough on his hands as a town healer. This would have to change.

Deep in thought, he barely registered her change of breathing pattern, and only noticed that she had woken up when she turned to look at him, her hair getting messier as she moved. She sent him a sleepy smile, before noticing his downbeat expression. Her hand moved up to the side of his face, fingers entangling themselves in his soft sideburns, pulling him down into a slow kiss. When they broke apart, she sighed at his sad smile. “Something on your mind, my bear?” She asked, her thumb gently stroking his cheek. Mikkel sighed, his hand coming up to grasp hers. He wasn’t sure how to explain it to her, and he didn’t want to upset her. No, that was the last thing he wanted. Still, it would be worse if he didn’t tell her.

“I’m not sure how much longer we can keep this up, Sigrun.” He said. Her brows furrowed and she propped herself up by her elbows. “What do you mean?” She asked, to Mikkel’s great relief sounding worried, not accusing.

“The children. They can’t be without you for months every year, it’s too much for them-“

“And you?”

He sighed. “I do my best, but I’ve got too much. I work, I take care of Maja and Sigurd, and I miss you every second of every day.”  
Sigrun nodded in understanding, but she flumped back down on the bed and closed her eyes. “I’m too tired right now, can we have this talk tomorrow?” She mumbled, turning to lie on her side facing him. He silently nodded, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight. She fell asleep again soon enough, but he couldn’t find rest. His fingers kept finding scars on her back, and he remembered how she got each and every one, when, by what, how she’d looked when she came home.

Five years ago they carried her home in a stretcher, and it had taken months before the lacerations on her back and thigh had healed completely. Three years ago, when Sigurd had been just two, she had nearly lost an unborn Maja in a battle against a giant. She still had a scar across her stomach after that. One year ago, she’d been on crutches. She could still feel the now-healed break when the weather changed. He was worried about how this winter would be for her, now that she was pregnant on top of it all. Not that he wasn’t pleased – he was, beyond words. But he was also worried.

Dawn crept in through the windows, and though he had dozed off, he hadn’t slept. After placing a gentle kiss on Sigrun’s cheek, he got out of bed, careful not to wake her. He got dressed in complete silence, deliberately choosing one of the knitted Icelandic sweaters that Reynir had sent him over the years. They had the ugliest patterns, in fact, Mikkel rather suspected that the young man was trying his hand at knitting, and sent his friends the failed attempts. They were excellent against the sharp, Norwegian cold, though, and now that autumn had taken the land in its grasp, they were good to have.

Mikkel descended down the stairs as quietly as he could. For some reason, he was always the first up in their family, only Maja sometimes woke on her own as early as her father. This particular morning, Mikkel was up before even the cockerel in the henhouse by their home, and he knew that he had at least half an hour before either of his children or his wife would awaken. He would spend that time wisely.

Forty minutes later, a slightly zombiefied Sigrun followed a drowsy Sigurd and an energetic Maja. They had most likely been awakened by the scent of bacon, scrambled eggs and sausages spreading through the house, and most likely Sigrun was thanking the gods for the gods-know-which time that she had a husband who did the cooking. While she devoured his cooking with the ferocity of a ravenous she-wolf (which was not an entirely wrong description for Sigrun in general), Mikkel studied the expression of his wife. Judging by the bags under her eyes and the soft gazes she sent both him and the children, discussing the end of her military career was not an option today. She was still settling in after over a month of raiding. It would have to wait ‘till winter.


	5. We cannot stop time, my love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel and Sigrun do not experience the expected end of her pregnancy.  
> And I am a terrible human being.

Mikkel woke up one morning to find that winter had come. The outside of the windows were covered in intricate frost patterns, and a white layer of frost covered the grass in their garden. Sigrun was still sleeping in his arms, her breath steady and strong as always. With gentle, loving movements he brushed a few strands of scarlet hair from her face and looked at her, eyes filled with tenderness. She was getting that roundness to her cheeks, that healthy shine which seemed to be the surefire sign of a healthy and normal pregnancy. She was in the beginning of her third trimester, and he could breathe easily. If there had been any damage to the fetus caused by her exertions while hunting, it would most likely have shown by now.

Still, there was a constant thought, a nagging in the back of his head. The idea of Sigrun, and the children, safe with him on peaceful Bornholm. He couldn’t help it, it surfaced whenever Maja’s face lit up when Mikkel lifted her up so that she could feel Sigrun’s stomach, when she squealed with joy after feeling the fetus give a kick. It surfaced whenever he caught Sigurd glancing at his mother with the badly-hidden anticipation of an older brother. The same went for whenever Tyr sent Mikkel the same smile he had when Sigrun was pregnant previously. He had come back from the hunt about a month after Sigrun, and was now living with them.

Farm life would be safe, and he was certain that both Maja and Sigurd would enjoy it. Tyr might tolerate it, but chances were that he’d stay in Dalsnes and the military. As much as it would pain Mikkel, the boy was nearing 18 years of age. He would be an adult soon. No, the one who would suffer from such a move was Sigrun. She wouldn’t be able to bear it, she would yearn for action, and it would impede her dealings with both him and the children. He couldn’t put her through that. If they ever moved, it would be due to a medical emergency or because she wanted it.

Pressing a gentle kiss against her forehead, Mikkel slipped out of bed while carefully sure that the blankets were tucked around Sigrun. Cold would do her no good now.

He shivered briefly as the soles of his feet made contact with the icy hardwood floor. The sharp cold woke him up properly, and within minutes, he was fully dressed, once again wearing one of Reynir’s hideous sweaters. He turned to look at his sleeping wife, already regretting, as he did every morning, that he would have to wake her up. But he was adamant when it came to this, if he didn’t treat her both in the morning and the evening, she suffered from swollen legs and feet to a point where she had trouble walking. With gentle movements, he caressed her hair, then her cheek, and she stirred. One tired eye opened slowly, then the other, and she was scarcely awake when she sat up with an almost instinctual movement. This was a morning ritual of sorts that they had been going through for about two months. She looked more asleep than awake as he began to massage her feet, shins and lower thighs with slow, strong motions. This had not been a problem at any of her previous pregnancies, and Mikkel saw this as a sign that she was nearing the age where she was too old to bear children safely. He was nearing forty years of age and she was following right behind him. If he had a say, this would be their last child.

After a few minutes he was done and she snuggled back under the covers, going right back to sleep. He stood up with a sigh, kissed her forehead and left their bedroom. He was careful to be quiet while walking down the stairs, and in spite of his heavy build he quite succeeded. Nonetheless, he had only just left the bathroom five minutes later when Maja crept through the door to the children’s room, closing it behind her without a sound. She was still in her pajamas, stuffed animal in hand, and looking very sleepy. She trotted over to her father as soon as she saw him, knowing that he’d pick her up. He did. It was their morning routine. Carrying his daughter on one arm, Mikkel began preparations for breakfast. Eventually, when he had to start cooking, he carried Maja to their small living room, placing her in his chair and draping some of the furs over her. She fell asleep halfway sitting and halfway lying down, as usual.

Mikkel was nearly finished with breakfast when Sigurd soundlessly sneaked up behind him, wrapping his arms as far around his father’s lower back as they would reach. Mikkel, who had heard the hushed steps, reached down to ruffle his son’s blonde hair, messing it up even more than it already was.  
“Why are you worried, dad?” Sigurd’s question took Mikkel by surprise, and he paused what he was doing to look down at his son. Unusually sharp eyes met his own, and he smiled gently. There was certainly more to this child than met the eye. “I’m not worried.” He answered. It was a lie, and he preferred to tell the truth, but Sigurd was only five and a half years old and should not be burdened by the concerns of his father. The boy mumbled something, his face buried in Mikkel’s sweater. He seemed to be very observant, noticing things that most children his age would never even spare a thought for. That was both impressive and worrisome, since Mikkel would have preferred for his children to have as careless and happy a childhood as he could give them.

After a few minutes of Sigurd clinging to him and Mikkel carefully moving to allow him to hold on, he looked down at his son again. He was about to tell him to go up and tell Sigrun that breakfast was ready when a shout sounded from upstairs.

“MIKKEL!”

It was Sigrun’s voice, and she had that slightly pained tone that he recognized all too well. Within mere moments Tyr was awake and out of his bedroom, had lifted Maja into his arms and was beside Mikkel. “Take them to Sigrun’s parents. Tell them it’s too soon” He said, gently pushing Sigurd towards Tyr. The young man nodded and immediately took the children to the main door and began dressing them in their outdoors clothes. Mikkel secured the stove hastily and ran up the stairs, two steps at a time, to Sigrun.

He practically burst through the door, his usually calm expression replaced by a frown and a face tensed with worry. Hastening to her side, he took in all visual cues. She was pale, and the healthy shine was replaced by a sickly gleam of cold sweat. Mostly, he judged, out of fear. She was breathing heavily, and her hands were clasping, clawing at the sheets.

“What happened?” Mikkel asked gently, while taking her pulse and checking her temperature. She was normal, heartbeat slightly elevated but nothing alarming. It could just be Braxton Hicks.

“M-my water broke.” Her words washed over him like a cold dread, and he knew that this situation could no longer be salvaged. He could stop Braxton Hicks, but he could not stop full-on labor. With a sinking feeling, he gently lifted the covers.

There was blood. That was not what he had wanted to see.


	6. Ragnhild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel deals with the loss of their premature child. And I am sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, undskyld, undskyld, undskyld, undskyld.

Sigrun’s breathing was even and quiet when Mikkel checked it, and he leaned back in his chair with a sigh of relief. He was sitting by her bedside while she was resting. He’d given her a few drops of valerian, which had enabled her to sleep, but up until now her sleep had been fitful and she’d had instances of waking up hyperventilating every now and then. He couldn’t blame her for that.

Just a few hours ago, she had given birth to a live child. A little girl, perfect but so very, very tiny. She’d struggled for breath, the little one, and had it not been for Mikkel insisting, the other healers would’ve taken her away before she expired. But he had insisted. And they’d allowed Sigrun to hold her, for her and Mikkel to have that last minute with their child. Sigrun had asked him to give her a name.

He’d named her Ragnhild.

Moments later, Ragnhild had stopped breathing, and her little form became still. The healers had left them alone, and they’d had some time with their little daughter. Mikkel had held her too, she’d scarcely been big enough to fill out his hand. A tiny, perfect little human being. And they’d spoken to her, of all the dreams and wishes they’d had for her, and all the things that they’d hoped she’d see. They’d cried, yes, they’d wept for her, but not as much as he had thought they would. Somehow, having her there, it was not completely a goodbye. Eventually, Sigrun had handed her over to Mikkel, and he’d carefully wrapped her in first one of her shirts, and then one of his. That would have to do, until they eventually joined her in whichever world was next. And if there was nothing, then the symbolism at least seemed to soothe Sigrun. It soothed him too.

Now that Sigrun was sleeping soundly, he could breathe easily. She was not hemorrhaging, and she’d delivered the afterbirth. She was safe now, as safe as she could be. It was time he buried Ragnhild.

With the feather-light bundle in his arms, he left the bedroom and slowly walked down the stairs. To his surprise, Sigrun’s mother, General Eide, was seated on the last step. When he reached her, she stood up and looked at him with a deep empathy. There were no words between them, she merely placed her hand on his arm for a brief moment before passing him and walking up the stairs to guard her resting daughter.

Mikkel almost didn’t think about where he was going, but he realized too late that he’d forgotten to wear a jacket. He didn’t care, right now he was too numb to feel the winter cold cutting through his sweater. He felt nothing but the coldness of the bundled-up child in his arms and the rough wood of the shovel he’d brought. Letting his instincts guide him, he found himself at a lookout point above the fjord, a good distance away from the city. He could just exactly see their house. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve been wary of anything and everything in this area, since it was far enough away for the occasional troll or Vætte to wander into, but now he didn’t care. He carefully put the bundle down, placing it softly on the ground, and began to dig into the hard, frozen earth.

He didn’t know how long it took him, but the sun had lowered considerably in the sky when his muscles finally gave in and he could dig the grave no deeper. He hadn’t needed to make it this deep, but the simple, mindless act of jamming the shoved in the ground and hauling away the earth was balsamic and mulled his thoughts. He hauled himself out of the hole, sitting on the edge of it as he reached for the bundle and took it in his arms. He carefully removed the layers of fabric from Ragnhild’s face, to look at her just one more time. 

She was so perfect. So perfect, like a tiny porcelain doll. He could still, in his mind, hear her weak, ragged breath as she struggled, fought to live. But he couldn’t have saved her, nobody could. Tears began streaming down his face as he kissed her eyelids, carefully, knowing that he was wetting her little face with teardrops. He clutched her to his chest, gently though with a greater urgency than he could ever express. He wanted to say so many things to her, catch up on an entire life that she would not get to live, but all he could say with his voice choked with grief was…

“I love you.”

One last kiss placed against her forehead, and then he wrapped her up again and laid her in the grave. Without looking down at her, he filled the hole, dimly relishing the screams of his muscles and the pain in his skin. He was cold, and he’d be damned lucky not to get pneumonia, but that didn’t matter now. Right now, there was no future to consider. There was only this.

Before he knew it he was finished, but the grave looked too bare. There was only a tiny rising, a mere bump, in the earth as opposed to the large piles of adult graves. It was like one last morbid reminder of the life that would never be lived, and he couldn’t bear that. Instead, he dropped the shovel and began gathering stones from the surrounding area, piling them up above where Ragnhild lay. It was better, a stone setting, reminiscent of the Viking tombs. It seemed much more appropriate.

He was hesitant to leave her, he wanted to stay with her, as if part of him still hoped against all reason that she would rise and live, and breathe and laugh. That she would cut her teeth and learn to speak and walk, jump and dance. But she never could.  
He forced himself to go back, knowing that he was covered with earth, and cold as ice.

Sigrun’s mother was still there when he returned. Again, no words were exchanged, but she had a cold meal and a steaming bath ready. Sigrun was still sleeping. And there was still a piercing ache in Mikkel’s heart.


	7. We will soldier through, my love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Mikkel and Sigrun take an important step towards recovering over their loss.)
> 
> (Also, you’ll have to do without me from this Monday and until the fourth of November, since I’m going to Japan! But I’ll be back with new chapters after that.)

It had been a month since Ragnhild’s birth and subsequent death, and physically Sigrun was much recovered. In almost all ways, her body was treating it as just another birth, and as a result, she was almost normalized. Well, as much as she could be on the short term, as Mikkel noted after a weekly examination. It was their luck that he was a healer, he wasn’t sure she’d recovered this well if anyone else had been looking after her. There was a long way still, for both of them. They grieved silently, quietly and in private, for the sake of Maja and Sigurd. Mikkel wasn’t sure how much Maja had understood, but she seemed to comprehend much more than he wanted her to.

Regardless, it was Sigrun he worried about the most. He felt like his heart had been crushed, and somehow he had been thrown off balance, struggling with the daily routine that he’d usually taken great joy in upholding. But Sigrun was another matter. The only one who could coax a smile to her lips was Maja, and even those smiles were rare and sad. She’d become lethargic, numb. The only times he could see past that emotionless mask she wore was when she broke at night, and he clutched her to him, holding her while she wept, arms folded as though she was holding a baby.

Today, he deemed that he would try to give her some closure. Physically, she was up to it. The question was whether she could take it emotionally. Whether he could was of no matter, he disregarded himself completely. She was more important than him.

It was drizzling lightly when they left the house, and the air was cold although it did not bite. The weather was milder now, for some reason, than it had been that one month ago. Mikkel led his wife by the hand, neither of them saying a single word. Sigrun was clutching onto him, holding his hand so tightly it hurt, but he didn’t mind. When the stone setting came into view, she held on to his arm and her breathing became irregular, tears welling up in her eyes.

When she reached the stones, she knelt down by them, pulled off her gloves and let her hands run over their cold, smooth surface. Her tears stopped, and although her face was still a mask of grief, there was some relief to the exhale she let out. Mikkel moved to stand behind her and she leaned back, letting him caress her hair.

“Yes, this is good.” She whispered, he knew, about the tomb. Those were the first words she’d said that day, and it was the first time since Ragnhild that he’d heard her sound just the least bit happy. Sure, it was a melancholic, sad happiness, but it was there. It was recovery.

Sigrun stood up, grasping his hands and bringing them around her so that he was holding her in his arms. He didn’t know how long they stood like that, looking out over the fjord with hearts that were at least somewhat at peace. Mikkel felt like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, and he felt immensely relieved at the way she was looking out at the glistening water. There was still sorrow in her gaze, she was mourning of course, but there was a spark there too, that particular gleam that he’d come to know through the years. That was what he’d hoped to see.

“It’s beautiful here. You did well, my Dane-bear.” She whispered, turning her head to place a kiss to his cheek. He relished the soft touch of her lips beyond expression; it was as if he had been reborn. As if she had been reborn right there in his arms. He hummed, and she turned around in his arms to grasp his sideburns and pull him into a kiss. A short and gentle one, but it meant more than words could ever hope to express. It was a re-forging of the ties between them, a rekindling of the flame of love. It meant ‘I’ll stay with you’. It meant ‘I’ll go through this with you’. And it meant that for both of them.

Sigrun held his eyes, offering the slightest smile, which he returned without hesitation. He knew that she’d let him in again, she’d slid off the mask for him, thrown it away and destroyed it. Just like he’d done for her years ago. Then her gaze was turned away, and she was once again looking at the fjord. At the water, and the sun gleaming in the ripples and the waves. “Mikkel.” She said, and he held her just a little tighter. “Yes?”

“Take me away from here. A long way away.” There was no mistaking the hesitance and sadness in her tone, but there was also an undeniable sureness to it. He knew where she meant, and he could hear that she really meant it. Still, he needed to be certain. He’d do anything she wanted, everything she needed. But he needed to be certain that it was what she wanted.

“Are you sure?” He asked gently, his arms wrapping around her middle. She placed her hands over his larger ones and nodded.

“Yes. Take me to Denmark. Take me to peace.”


	8. You'll be fine, my son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter focuses mainly on the relationship between Mikkel and Tyr, Sigrun’s son. Tyr is not sure he’s quite ready to live on his own, but Mikkel, also known as ‘the bear’ to his son-in-soul, has a few words of wisdom for him.

The children took it well. That had been Mikkel’s main concern. Sigrun had always seemed unusually tough when it came to things like these. She did not seem to be very affected by the prospect of moving. Not even when all they would bring with them was packed into nothing more than five boxes.  
She seemed alright.

Seemed. To the untrained eye.

The reality was somewhat different, and Mikkel knew this only because he could see right through her, read her like an open book. She needed to get away, that much was evident, but there were things she would always yearn for when they left them behind. She spent many spaced-out moments staring in the direction of Ragnhild’s grave, and in spite of the cheerful façade she put up, she had a pained look in her eyes when she had to turn her back on her regiment and walk away after saying goodbye. Only, she hadn’t said a final farewell. She had said ‘se deg’. See you. And as much as he loved Sigrun, he couldn’t help but worry that she would want to go back. Only, he hoped she would do so after the children were old enough to decide for themselves. She would have to wait at least a decade, and he wasn’t sure she’d considered that. Still, if it came to it, he would have to solve it. He’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

Tyr had wanted to stay, of course, Mikkel had foreseen that. And so, the house was left in the care of the young man. Thankfully, he wasn’t at all as rash as Sigrun tended to be, he thought about things and he was careful. Mikkel prided himself with being, at least, part of the reason for that. As such, the house was safe enough and in good hands.

The evening before they moved, after dinner, Mikkel took Tyr for a walk down by the fjord. The twilight had already fallen, and the sky was rapidly darkening. There were no words exchanged between them for near a dozen long minutes, just an exalted, understanding silence. It was evident that the young man had an ability to read people, Mikkel included, and since the elder man possessed the same quality, there was no need for words. That was, until Tyr stopped and turned.

“Here.” He held out a small wrapped something towards Mikkel, who accepted it. When he unwrapped it, it was a small, carved amulet, shaped like a bear and attached to a leather cord for wearing around the neck. The Dane couldn’t help but smile – Bear had become his nickname during his time in Norway, and he had become quite fond of it, to the point where he would miss it. “Thank you.” He carefully placed the amulet around his neck, tucking it under his jacket and woolen sweater. It felt good, almost like it was warming up his heart. Tyr might not be his son of blood, but they’d grown close after five years, and he would always consider the young man his own, no matter the distance between them.

“Can I visit you when hunting season’s over?” For some reason, Tyr’s voice was hesitant. The question caught Mikkel unawares, but he realized within mere moments the reason why it was asked. Tyr simply wasn’t sure whether Mikkel was going away for good, whether he’d leave him behind. It seemed to be an instinctive thing more than anything else. Mikkel sighed and draped an arm around his shoulders, halfway hugging him. “Of course you can, I’d be happy to see you whenever you want to come. We all would.” His soft voice and his answer made Tyr relax, and a small smile crept over his lips.

“You must be careful. Troll hunting is not a safe occupation.” Mikkel silenced himself before he could add ‘and I won’t be there to patch you up’. It was an unnecessary addition, since there were multiple competent healers in the Dalsnes military. He had kept the hope that Tyr would choose a different path for unrealistically long, and he’d been clinging on to that hope until the moment when a fifteen year old Tyr stood on the ship’s deck and sailed away with his mother to go hunting on the northern bank.

The young man huffed, but he was still smiling. “Yeah, I know. There’s got to be an Eide holding the crew together, though.” He sounded proud, and happy. That was all Mikkel could ask for, and he knew it. He wanted all his children to be happy, but he would of course prefer it if they could balance happy with a relatively long life expectancy.

“I’m not sure how I’ll feel when you’ve moved.” Tyr’s words caught Mikkel unawares, and he almost stopped walking. “How so?” He asked, although he could tell just by looking down at him. Tyr sighed.  
“I’m not sure I want to live alone. It’ll be so quiet, and…”

“You’re not sure you are ready to be alone.” Mikkel picked up where Tyr fell silent, and the young man nodded solemnly. Mikkel sighed and looked out at the fjord, suddenly feeling very melancholic.

“We’re never really ready for anything, son, and we won’t be until we throw ourselves at it. It’ll feel strange, and you’ll be insecure at first, but eventually it will just become routine.” That answer seemed to calm the young man somewhat, enough, at any rate, for him to make a humorous statement.

“I will miss your cooking though. I doubt anyone in Dalsnes can rival it.”

They laughed together, Mikkel and Tyr. Everything seemed so final to both of them. But it would not be the last time.


	9. Love will guide us home, my love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter of the first full-plot fanfiction that I have ever done.  
> What a bittersweet journey this has been, but quite worth it in the end, no?  
> I will end this on a happy note, though one never forgets a tragedy.
> 
> This is a full decade, ten years, after chapter 8.

The wooden floorboards creaked slightly as Mikkel stepped into the main house of the Madsen farm, leaving his muddy boots outside. He’d become a farmer again, perhaps more than he had ever been before, and his family had taken over the running of the farm after his parents had stepped down on the grounds of being too old to continue running the farm full-time. They’d moved down to one of the other, smaller, houses. The farm building itself was quadrangle, not counting the stables. In the third house lived three farm boys and two girls who were learning the craft of animal caretaking on the biggest establishment for miles around.

While he, Sigurd and Maja had easily taken to their new life, Sigrun had struggled a little more than they. Eventually, of course, Mikkel had gotten an idea. She missed action, well, there was also action to be found in the world of farming.

He’d suggested that she become a butcher, and after her first week in training, she had turned out to be devilishly good at it. That, of course, had been a huge asset for the Madsen family farm, and the ability to not only butcher and preserve the meat of their own animals, but also of the animals of surrounding farms, had meant a considerably larger income. He had been able to expand considerably. And Sigrun had been kept happy. Happier than he’d dared to hope.

Happy enough that, even though he was careful, she let slip.

She’d gotten pregnant again, and although he had been out of his right mind of worry, she had handled it with extraordinary coolness, turning all his fears to shame when she delivered, on time, a pair of healthy, perfect twins. Frej and Freja, named after the Nordic god of the harvest and goddess of beauty. The twins had been born two years after their arrival, and they were eight years old now. It was quite evident that they were living up to their names.

Frej was a mild, gentle boy, who had already become quite adept at helping his father during lambing, calving and farrowing. He was good with animals, and he had a knack for knowing when the grain was ready for harvest. Mikkel was careful with never push the boy to do too much, encouraging him to play in the ripe wheat fields and run around on the grazing grounds with the animals. He’d even gotten hold of a small Icelandic horse, bred by one of his neighbors, so that he could teach his son to ride. The big draft horses weren’t exactly meant for horseback riding.

Freja, on the other hand, had inherited his golden locks, but Sigrun’s temper. She had taken to butchering, and at a mere eight years her skill with a filleting blade sometimes left Mikkel feeling just slightly concerned. But the girl seemed to enjoy working alongside her mother, and eventually he had relinquished to her demands and made her a stool so that she could reach up and work on the slaughter bench. Which he had also made. Having named her after a goddess of war, Mikkel should perhaps have foreseen this.

Stepping into the house after a long day’s work, he found himself contended and happy. He was still the housewife, of course, and cooking and cleaning still fell upon him, but he didn’t mind. Maja was beginning to help him, she’d taken a liking to cooking, and Sigurd begrudgingly helped with the daily chores as well, but there wasn’t all that much either could do. Mikkel had insisted that they be sent to school, and although Sigrun had protested, stating it as unnecessary, he had gotten the last word. He wanted his children to know a thing or two about the world beyond the homely rock of the island, and he knew that they would want to understand more than that. Moving from Dalsnes had broadened their word, and in addition, they had needed to perfect their Norwegian-slurred Danish.

They’d been living here for ten years, longer than in Dalsnes, and the children were Danish now. They ran in the fields, they sang the old songs and they knew the rotunda churches. Sigrun didn’t see to mind, but he knew she missed the rough historicity of her home turf. That was partly why he made sure that they visited when they could, in spring, usually. Tyr also came to see them after the summer raids, sometimes taking a job in Sweden to make the visits easier. Sigrun had been on quite a few of those trips too, and though Mikkel turned back to smoking, back to worrying, whenever she did, he knew that she needed it.

“Dad!” Frej came running in, trailing mud and grass on the carpet. Mikkel sighed, and when he raised an eyebrow at the eager boy, Frej realized his mistake, backed out the door, left his boots outside and came back in.

“Dad!” He said again, his long, curly golden hair like a messy halo around his head. “Dad! The wheat’s ready!”

Mikkel dropped the pan he was cleaning into the sink and turned towards his son. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Frej was jumping up and down now. “I am sure!”

Mikkel nodded, urged his son out the door again and was in his boots momentarily.

“Maja! Sigurd! Freja!” He called, and one by one the children came rushing from various places on the farm. Freja from the henhouse, feathers in her hair, Maja from the stabled where she had, judging by the empty bucket she still held, been watering the pigs. Sigurd came rushing from the pastures where the cows were out grazing.

“The harvest is on.” Mikkel said, almost ceremonially, and he could see the eagerness and excitement gleam in his children’s eyes. Harvest meant days of hard work, weeks off school for all the children in the area, and sleeping very soundly at night. It meant finding animals hiding in the high wheat stalks and learning from the grown-ups how to handle the scythes and bundle up the harvest.

“Maja, you go tell the Jessen family.” The red-headed girl nodded, and Mikkel could’ve sworn he saw her blush. Contrary to what she believed, he was well aware of the chemistry between her and the Jessen’s eldest boy, Peter. He was also keeping a keen eye on them.

“Sigurd, you alert the townsfolk.” The sixteen-year old boy immediately headed off towards the horses’ stable, following his sister.

“Freja and Frej you run to the Larsen farm. They’ll want all the help they can get.” The Larsens, unlike the Jessens and Madsens, were new to the farming business. This was their first proper harvest, and as newcomers, they were not too keen to reach out for help. However, since they had gambled big on wheat, Mikkel was ready to give the help they so desperately needed.

With all his children out on their designated task, Mikkel watched as they, one by one, and then two, left the quadrangle farm. He sighed contently, crossing his arms. 

He tensed, but then relaxed when a pair of arms were wrapped around him.

“Sigrun.” He said softly, her name like a caress passing his lips. She hummed something against his shoulder, her lips meeting his neck.

“Harvest?” She asked, her words muffled against his skin. He nodded, placing his hands over hers.

“Yes. At last.” He turned in her embrace and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Hopefully the weather will hold up.”

“Mmh.” Sigrun hummed again. “And we just got done with the lambing.” She sighed heavily.

“And the calving.” Mikkel added.

“And the farrowing.” Sigrun agreed.

There was silence for a while.

“I want to go there tonight. Before the rush begins.” Sigrun’s voice was gentle, hesitant. Mikkel smiled sadly.

‘There’ was the western tip of the island, in riding distance from the farm. The first time they went there had been when she was having a bout of homesickness, she’d missed Dalsnes, but most of all she had missed being able to visit Ragnild’s grave. Going to the western coast had meant going to the place on Bornholm that was closest to Norway – that faced in Norway’s direction.

They still went there on occasion, always together, always in remembrance of their little girl. She was never truly gone from their minds. They had five children, one just wasn’t here right now.

“Then we go. Tonight.” He would always agree to her. He would sit with her there, on the glimmering rocks, as the sun lowered beyond the horizon, bathing the sky in bright orange and gold. He would look at her, see the longing gleam in her eyes, and he would feel a sting in his heart. But she would feel better for it, and so would he.

“I love you.” It came over her lips like a solemn oath, spoken with meaning, with emphasis.

“I love you.” He answered in the same manner. This was their vow, and they knew that they would stay true to it.


End file.
